The Gamblers
by OneforSorrowTwoforMirth
Summary: Arn Dixon is a recently released convict from Arkham Asylum, trying to pick up the shattered pieces of his family but his ties to the criminal gang the Gamblers won't let him be. His daughter Petra takes it into her own hands to save her father: she seeks out help from the Batman.
1. Chapter 1

_Chapter 1 Old Friends_

Arn Dixon stood inches from the door, aware of how stupid he must look, frozen with his hand outstretched, unable to knock. He hadn't seen his daughter in two and a half years, six months, two weeks, four days and fifteen hours and now she was behind this door. He could hear the impatient huff of the social worker behind him and finally knocked.

A woman of about fifty answered the door and though she smiled, he didn't fail to notice her guarded expression.

"Afternoon, Mrs. Mooney," the social worker stuck out a hand, "I'm Christiana, we spoke on the phone yesterday?"

"Oh welcome," she shook the woman's hand, "And you must be Mr. Dixon. It's a pleasure to finally meet you!" Arn shook the woman's hand as well, noting her appraising gaze. He'd bought a nice shirt as soon as he heard this meeting was happening, though he doubted that gained any points on his favor.

"Please come in," Mrs. Mooney stepped aside. Now it was Arn's turn to observe. The living room was sparsely furnished and very clean. The light fixtures and carpet betrayed the age of the house, but Arn knew it was much nicer than anything he could afford. Mrs. Mooney went to the stairs and called, "Petra! He's here!"

His anxiety returned when he heard someone come to the stairs. He dug his thumbnail into his palm.

She was taller, her hair shorter, her glasses different, but it was her. Her freckles on her nose were a little faded, her dark hair in a braid like her mother used to wear. She wore an old blue sweater that had very frayed cuffs even though the sweater didn't look too worn. He wondered how he must look to her. Her movements and manner was much more guarded and cautious since the last time he saw her. The time had not been kind to either of them.

He wanted to run to her, to hug her, to ask her how she was and get an honest answer but it was clear neither one of them knew what to do or say.

Mrs. Mooney came to their rescue, "Petra, how about Christiana and I go to the kitchen and let you and your father have a few -"

"I'm afraid that won't be possible," the social worker interrupted, "These visits are to be closely supervised until Mr. Dixon is reevaluated in a few months."

"Oh. Of course. Why don't we all take a seat?" Arn quickly obeyed. Petra came closer but didn't sit. Arn cleared his throat awkwardly,

"Uh...hi Petra. I'm - it's good to see you."

"Yeah," she said, voice a little hoarse, "Good to see you too, Dad."

"Yeah, how are things - I mean, how are you?"

"It's good." They lapsed into uncomfortable silence.

Arn began, "Look, Petra, if you don't want to -"

"No, I do," she said, a little too loudly.

"Ok. Um…." he looked around trying to think of what to say, "Sorry. My conversation skills are a little. Um. How's...school?"

"It's ok."

"Good. That's good."

Petra still hadn't looked up from the ground and kept her eyes fixed like she was afraid it would vanish. Arn could feel his thumbnail digging into his palm again. He did it without realizing half the time.

The rest of the visit was a blur and all he knew was that it hadn't gone well. Mrs. Mooney had tried to help and ask questions but it was decidedly awkward so she rambled on for a bit about how Petra was doing in school. The worst part was at the end as he was getting up to leave, his daughter had looked at him and for a moment he wildly hoped she was going to hug him but then she turned away quickly and ran upstairs.

The social worker dropped him off at his apartment. The stairs creaked with every step and the hallway smelled strongly of mildew. He struggled to get the key unstuck after he unlocked the door to his unit. The place was certainly no five star hotel but he'd take the street over one more night in that loony bin.

He'd been out of Arkham Asylum for six days and he still couldn't shake the feeling that someone would be swooping in through the door to take him back. He hadn't even fully unpacked the two boxes of his stuff his ex had sent him. They were still sitting on his bed, which he had yet to actually sleep in. He'd been collapsing on the beat up couch every night.

Arn sat at the scratched kitchen table he'd fished out of a dumpster and put his head in his hands.

_How did you _think _it was going to go? _He berated himself, _You should be thankful she didn't treat you like you treated your father after he got out of prison. _

He sat at the table for a while, finally mustering up enough energy to dig through the fridge. There wasn't much. In the end, he flopped on the couch and stared at the ceiling, listening to the thumping of his upstairs' neighbor's stereo. He was still digging his thumbnail into his palm and was pretty certain he'd broken the skin by now.

Arn hoped he would fall asleep soon. He had to report to the parole office at eight and it was a thirty minute commute.

The nextdoor neighbors' dog was barking loudly and someone else in the complex was pounding on the wall in protest. Arn didn't mind. He was grateful for the noise. Last night it had been deadly quiet. Nights in Arkham were never quiet, and after two and a half years it was going to take some getting used to. His cellmate for the first five months had screamed in his sleep almost every night. He'd been in solitary for a week next to someone he was pretty sure had been either Riddler or Two Face.

He turned his thoughts back to Petra, as he'd often done lying in his cell. It hadn't gone well, to be sure, but it had only been an hour. Maybe next time…

A crack of thunder sent Arn bolt upright from sleep, his heart pounding. He felt sweat bead on his forehead and neck.

_Too loud...too loud…_

The clock on the microwave read 2:47 am. He rubbed his temples and got up, opening the fridge, wishing he had something besides two day old take out. The thunder rumbled again. He closed the fridge and leaned against the counter.

_Just thunder. You're fine. Calm down. _

Had he left the windows open in the bedroom? Was that why it seemed so much louder? He went to check. The glare of city lights and cars made the dark room a dim blue.

Lightning flashed across the sky and a car passed by below, illuminating a figure next to the closet.

Arn's heart skipped a beat, but his face didn't even twitch. His hand moved slowly to his back pocket.

"Let's not play games, Arn," the figure said softly, voice a deep purr, "We both know you ain't packing. You wouldn't risk being caught."

Arn said nothing and didn't drop his hand. The figure sighed and took a step out of the shadows.

"Don't move," Arn barked.

"Why so hostile? Is that any way to treat an old friend?"

"I dunno, is jumping ship like a scared rat any way to treat a friend?" Arn felt the wire in his pocket. Not much, but he could make it work.

"Now, don't be angry at me because you know when to quit. And I could've broken you out, but you didn't want me to!" The figure shrugged.

"What do you want, Sikes?"

"Oh, so it's Sikes now is it? Well then, _Dixon, _I suppose we're doing this quite formal like. I don't want much of anything, just came to see -"

"Friends don't come sneaking through windows at 2 in the morning, so cut the shit."

Sikes sighed belaugeredly, "Well now, if you rather I stroll up to your front door so everyone can ask questions later then I suppose I could come back in the morning."

"Why are you here?"

Sikes came forward. Arn tensed, but he just sat down on the bed and crossed his arms.

"I was just passing through the neighborhood. Bit of a downgrade from your last place, don't you think?" Sikes inspected his cuff. He was dressed, as usual, with all the subtlety and taste of the Joker in a loud purple silk shirt, red vest, and diamond cufflinks. His shoes were so shiny the streetlight glinted off them.

"Leave."

"I will, don't you worry about that. This place is as depressing as my mother's house. When's Petra coming? You might want to fix it up a bit before she gets here." Arn glared, "It was a genuine question, Arn. When's she moving back in?" Arn's glare deepened. Sikes smacked his forehead with his palm, "Pardon my tactlessness, I thought -"

"Well, think again."

"But surely they're giving you a chance?"

"They said they'd consider it. "

"Do you believe them?"

Now it was Arn's turn to sigh, "No."

"Does Monique know you're out?" Sikes asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Not sure. But if she hears I want Petra to move in…"

"She certainly ain't about to hear it from me," he shook his head, "You really know how to pick 'em." Arn almost grinned, much to his consternation. Sikes stood, "Well now, that's about all the time I have to visit tonight. I'll see you 'round, old friend." He pushed past Arn and let himself out the front door.

Arn stood in the middle of the room for several minutes, everything that was just said replaying and short circuiting in his brain. He went back into the kitchen. There were five twenty dollar bills in a stack on the table and on top of those, a small card. Printed in fancy letters was an address just far enough from Crime Alley to be expensive and just close enough to be in the center of most gang operations. Sikes had written on the back of the card,

_If you need me. _

_\- Gambler _


	2. Chapter 2

C_hapter 2 _

Petra Dixon found it very hard to care that there was gum in her hair. It was only about the third worst thing that had happened to her this morning. First, she'd snapped at her foster mom which always made her feel sick even though Lisa hadn't called her out on it. Second, she made it to school but didn't stop feeling sick and on her way up to turn in her homework in third period, she vomited in front of the whole class. Mrs. Moore sent her to the nurse and by the time she got there, she noticed the gum in her hair. Probably Kylie or one of her sidekicks.

Petra was half tempted to walk out of school and just keep walking. She'd done it a month ago, but after that the school was given explicit instructions to not let her to leave unless they saw Lisa come in to get her.

The nurse found nothing wrong and told Petra to wait and left, probably to get the school counselor, Mr. Hawkins. She wondered if she called Lisa if she would come pick her up from school. Better not. She'd probably get mad if Petra made her leave work. Mr. Hawkins came in, wearing one of his usual loud ties. This one had birds of paradise on it. He adjusted his square glasses and said,

"Morning, Petra." She mumbled a hello back. "How are you?"

_What kind of a stupid question is that? _

"I'm fine."

"Of course you're not. Is your stomach any better?"

Petra shrugged, "A bit." He looked at her evenly then said,

"I understand your dad came to visit you yesterday?"

Petra looked back at the ground, "Yeah."

"How did it go? I know you haven't seen him in a long time."

Petra glanced at the nurse, who was doing her very best to appear busy but she knew was hanging on to every word. Mr. Hawkins noticed her gaze.

"How about we go to my office? I can call you out of next period."

Next period was math, which she hated, so she nodded.

Mr. Hawkins office was a pretty typical counselor's office: an armchair across from his desk, a few stuffed animals on a shelf next to his framed degree, stupid motivational posters on the walls, and soft music that mostly served to keep people from hearing what was being said. He sat down at his desk, and Petra knew that meant she had to sit across from him.

He leaned an elbow on the desk and glanced down at a clipboard on the desk. "Your mom - er, I mean Lisa called me this morning saying she thought you might need to meet with me."

"I don't."

"She said you were upset last night."

_Dammit. _"I'm fine."

"I know you've had many people tell you this, but you don't _have _to see your father if you don't want to."

Petra started twisting her dark hair around her finger. "I do want to see him."

"Ok. I believe you. Could you tell me why?"

"Because...because he's my dad?"

"Is that all?"

Petra twisted her hair harder, "Yes. I like my dad."

"Mhm. This tells me," he tapped his clipboard, "You dropped contact with him while he was incarcerated even though he continued to send you letters. Would you mind telling me why?"

"I don't know. I guess I just didn't know what to say." _What do you say to someone who got themselves locked up in Arkham? _

"Understandable. Is that why the visit didn't go well? You didn't know what to say?"

"Yeah," Petra shrugged, "Kinda hard to know what to say."

"It is. Now, maybe it would be helpful to think of some strategies and things to say next time he visits…"

But Petra stopped listening after this. She looked at the cat posters on the walls and tuned out Mr. Hawkin's voice. He'd go on for a while. She preferred the counselors like that, the ones who left silence for her to fill made her nervous. It was true, she _did _want to see her dad. Mostly. It was hard to explain.

Eventually, Mr. Hawkins must've realized she wasn't listening and he sent her to her next class. She stopped in the bathroom to try and take a better look at the wad of gum stuck in her hair. A few other girls came into the bathroom, giggling to each other. Kylie and her sidekicks. Petra glanced in the mirror then quickly moved away from the sinks and into a stall, hoping they hadn't had time to register that she was there.

"Let me see that," one girl insisted and snatched something from another girl.

"Where'd you get it?" That voice sounded like Meredith.

"John's room," Kylie said smugly, "He smokes 'em in his car. He thinks no one can smell it all over the seats."

"Was that Petra in here?" Juliet sniggered.

"Sure was. Heard her daddy got released from the crazy house and came to see her," Kylie laughed. Petra's cheeks burned. She wasn't too surprised that Kylie knew, since her mother was the biggest gossip in Gotham, but still.

"Guys," the first girl whispered, "She can hear you."

"Who cares? It's not like she's going to come out here. Right, Petra?" All of them laughed. "How was seeing your dad? Did they wheel him in in a straitjacket?"

Meredith's laugh alone sounded uncomfortable, "Kylie, that's not funny."

Petra could almost hear Kylie roll her eyes.

"Come on," she said. They all followed their leader out of the bathroom. Petra didn't move for a few minutes. She wanted to be sure they were really gone before she ventured out. She ended up being late to her next class but it was worth avoiding them.

Lisa picked her up at the end of the day, still in her scrubs.

"I'm not going to ask how your day was, since I think it's pretty obvious," she remarked, seeing the gum Petra had tried to hide by putting her hair up. "I'm sorry, sweetie." Petra said nothing and looked out the car window. Lisa prattled on for a bit about her day. She was a nurse at Gotham General and usually Petra liked to hear what she had to say but she cut her off mid sentence.

"How does everyone already know about my dad getting released?"

Lisa glanced at her, "Everyone?"

"A few people…" Petra muttered, "And it'll get around."

Her foster mom sighed, "The school was told that information was strictly confidential."

"I don't get why you had to tell the school. It's not a big deal. What does it have to do with anything?"

"We've been over this, Petra."

"Bet you it was Kylie's mom," she glowered.

"Who's Kylie?"

"No one."

Lisa knew that no amount of prying would get her to tell her anything. They were almost home anyway. The school counselor had called and suggested that Petra stay home from school for a day or two, but Lisa couldn't take off work. Besides, Petra not being there would only draw more attention to this fiasco. As soon as she parked in the driveway, Petra got out of the car and ran inside, probably to barricade herself in her room.

_Patience, _Lisa thought, _Patience._

"I'm sorry, Arn, but without a job you can't even apply for custody."

Arn took a deep breath, determined to keep his temper, "I understand that. But the positions you've offered aren't enough to cover my rent and my groceries, let alone what my daughter will need. I need something better."

The officer shrugged, "These are the only jobs I could find that would even consider you."

"Half of Gotham has been behind bars at some point! Hiring an ex con isn't strange!"

"Yes, but you have to remember your...other circumstances."

_They'll take ex cons but as soon as you throw the words Arkham Asylum and metahuman in there, forget it. _

"Come on. There's gotta be something else."

"Sorry. You don't get to start at the top."

"I'm not asking to start at the top! I'm asking for something that makes enough for me and my family to live on. I have a unique skill set that-"

The officer set down the file with more force than necessary, "No. It's bad enough you've got Arkham on your record, throw in your "skill set" and you can kiss employment goodbye."

"But -"

"Either you pick one of these positions or you can leave the rehab program." Arn glared out the grimy window of the office then back down at the paperwork in front of him.

"You pick. I don't care."

"Very well. We'll arrange your interview."

As much as Arn didn't want to use the cash Sikes had left on his table, he also really wanted a smoke or a drink. He hadn't had either while in prison or since his release. They were both bad habits but he was really pissed. He found himself in front of Suds' twenty minute later. The place hadn't changed at all, not even the crooked dartboard over the door. He walked into the grimy bar and found an empty stool. It was midday, so there were plenty to choose from. A man in a stained apron holding a towel came out from the back.

"I'll be with you in a mo - is that Arn Dixon?!"

"Sure is, Suds."

"So they let you out of the loony bin!" He came around the bar and gave him a bone crushing side hug. "Ha! What can I do for you?"

"Some whisky."

"You know I would but you paid me off, five hundred bucks."

"Did I? That's right," He'd paid off all of his regular bars to never serve him again, though trying to clean up his life had come a little too late. He'd been arrested a few weeks later. "Got something virgin?"

"Sure do," he went back behind the bar and started to pour liquids into a shaker. "I really gotta say, Arn. You look terrible."

"Well, the Asylum ain't exactly five star."

"Expect not. I had a cousin who went there, you know." Suds always seemed to have a cousin who'd done everything.

"What happened to him?" Arn asked, taking a toothpick from the container on the bar.

"He came out a bigger nut than he'd been in the first place," Suds poured the mixture in a glass and slid it to Arn.

"Sounds about right. What did I miss?"

"Well, I had to have the windows all replaced and the electrical rewired when Two-Face's gang smashed up the block."

"No kidding?" He took a sip. Not bad.

"Yeah, place had to be closed for like a week. You run into him?" Suds eyed him with curiosity.

"Nah. I saw him get processed, but they don't let that caliber of crazy out for nothing. Not after Riddler managed to get away using nothing but a toothpick." Suds laughed but clearly didn't know if Arn was kidding.

"So what they got you doing now?"

"I don't know. Told 'em to pick something. No one's about to hire the likes of me."

Suds started cleaning a glass, "I'd hire you."

"No offense, Suds, but you can't afford to hire me."

The barkeep shrugged, "Eh, maybe not full time but if you need a few hours now and again. Just show up and tell me you're clocking in."

"Not afraid of me driving customers away?" Arn took another drink. If he didn't pay attention, he could almost pretend there was alcohol in it.

"Arn, in this part of the city, everyone and their mother's been to prison."

"But not everyone's been to Arkham," he pointed out.

"It'll add a little intrigue," he winked.

The door opened and four men entered the bar, talking to each other with a forced casual air. They wore dark clothes and the way their leader scanned the room made Arn's hair stand up on the back of his neck.

"What can I do for you?" Suds asked, pleasantly.

A man with dull blue eyes and a scuffed leather jacket leaned on the bar, rapping his skinny knuckles against the wood. "I'll take a scotch, and the rest'll have some whisky."

"Anything else?"

"Yeah," he stuck his hand into his pocket and set a handgun on the bar, "You can empty out the register. And we'll take some of that," he pointed to a bottle on the top shelf. The other three goons brandished a switchblade or a crowbar. One scrambled over the bar, jabbing it in Sud's direction. Suds held up his hands,

"Ok, take it easy -"

The man picked up the gun and pointed it Arn's head.

"Any funny moves, I blow his brains, then yours. Got it?"

"Yeah, yeah I got it."

Arn glanced sideways at the man holding the gun. "Man" was a generous term. He was more of a kid. He had plenty of tattoos, though none belonging to any gang he recognized. Suds opened the register. It wasn't his first rodeo dealing with a robbery, and there wasn't much inside. Arn studied each man's posture. He tensed. Then, as the goon behind the register began to pull out the cash, Arn moved.

He grabbed the criminal by his gun arm and pulled him close so he couldn't maneuver away and forced his aim down. The gun went off, firing a round into his buddy's foot. Arn pulsed and felt the man go limp, unconscious. He dropped him and just barely dodged the uninjured one swinging a knife. It nicked his leg but he felt nothing and anticipated the next strike. He grabbed the boy's wrist and pulsed again, forcing him to drop to his knees. Arn delivered him a savage kick in the stomach and looked up.

To his relief, Suds had gotten the memo and slammed the one at the register over the head with a bottle, which sent him to the floor.

"Maybe I outta hire you to be my bouncer," he grinned. Arn chuckled and looked down at his leg. His pants were torn and he now felt blood trickle down his leg but it didn't seem deep. "Well, I guess I call the cops now."

"Do you think -" Arn began.

"You were never here."

"Thanks, Suds." He searched the boy on the ground, then the one shot in the foot, and then their leader, who was starting to come round. He found no weapons on them.

"Like hell!" the leader had regained his bearings and tried to stumble to his feet, "I know what you are!"

"Trust me, kid, so do the cops," Arn shoved him back down, "You won't impress them." He picked up one of Sud's napkins and began wiping off the gun. The kid made a wild lunge, which Arn easily stopped and sent him back to the floor, more electricity pulsing through his arm.

"What's he going on about?" Suds asked.

"Oh, nothing. I'll see you around."

"Take care, Arn. I owe ya."

"Not at all."

As Arn left, he heard the leader shouting a thousand threats and swearing up and down that he'd been electrocuted by Arn's bare hands. He just chuckled. Suds would give a good story to the cops, he always did.


End file.
